Her story. Last word. Written for all to see. To judge. Who she loved. Lost. Mourned. Her accomplishments. Strengths. Remembered.
Who was she really? Things she kept. Those she trusted. Laughed with. Cried with. Held hands. Shared passion. Who she fucked. Her first lover. Her last. Memories.
Greatest loss. Deepest fear. Regrets. Her many mistakes counted by who. Tallied.
All she owned. Trinkets and things. Fighting hordes like beggars wanting a piece. Tin and gemstones. Dollars divided.
I want not her thousands nor her jewels. I want her smile. Her long hair gently caressing my cheek as she bends close to whisper I love you in my ear. I want to lay quietly at dusk tucked beneath her favorite quilt straining to hear the lilt of her voice. I wish we could have laughed together one last time. I want so badly her hand in mine looking past the aged crinkles around her eyes her mouth. I wish I could take all of her pain unto me. She deserves peace.
Cloaked in the color of darkness I pray. Teardrops bleed from eyes lowered. There is no comfort no joy. Loss unimaginable.
Who was she really? Daughter. Wife. Sister. Mother. Friend. God’s gift. An angel renews a life everlasting taken from this earth. Who she loved. Mourned. Missed. Forever in this heart. Her legacy.